Girl Of Fury Day!

Everyone can tell when you're about to stop being plain old Kim and start being Girl Of Fury. It's getting old and by the numbers, frankly.

You stop talking. You stop talking and the person adjacent to you at the table notices you haven't spoken for twenty minutes. That person thinks, "And it begins."

Next, you transmogrify into a beautiful blue light. From the barstools to the pool cues, all are transfixed by the wondrous glow that is you. For a moment at least.

Just as knees begin to weaken, that's when you begin to radiate heat. At first just a creaky throated desert heat. But after a few minutes, the bar is a kiln and the elderly are dead.

Next, the windows shatter, the shelves fall from the walls and the pretzel mix is in everyone's hair. That's when you start to freak out.

No one sees it, but everyone feels it. Everyone, one by one, suddenly feels they have less blood than they just did a second ago. They felt it get tugged out from just below the backs of their necks. Just a yank of blood into the air, but it doesn't splash to the floor. Rather, now a kind of gas, the blood of everyone in the room is intermingled and sucked into each person's lungs. They've lost life, and they have taken life from their neighbors. The people are tainted with each other.

Finally, you freeze time, then take corporeal form again and go behind the bar to down a few free Ketel Ones. And when you return to your seat, we return to our conversations, the memory nowhere to be found, all of us without suspicion.

We get it. Go learn a bar trick.

Happy Girl Of Fury Day!